Interview with a Vampire: Coincidence & Prophecy
by Citizen Kane
Summary: One Shot. Eric sits down for a candid interview in the future and reveals: What happened the night he changed Pam, How he became Vampire, His human life, and most importantly, Why Sookie is and always has been his destiny. And much more. Enjoy!


***disclaimer**: I do not own the Southern Vampires series or any of the characters featured. All rights belong to Charlaine Harris. I don't own any of the characters or works or histories or references of anything mentioned in this story.

From Citizen,

I sat down to write some of my other story but my mind said no. I found this challenge and decided to just free-write. I ended up doing that for 6 hours, this story just poured out of me. It is special to me somehow…I really hope you like it, let me know what you think.

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_*The lights dimmed in the studio as the cameramen and sound technicians adjusted their equipment in a last-minute check. The director's assistant (DA) stood in front of the murmuring audience, holding one solitary finger over his lips in a gesture of hush to the anxious, packed house seated before him. He waited for complete silence from the observers, who were on the edge of their seats, and raised the other hand slowly, cueing production behind him. A spotlight was focused on the two comfortable chairs angled towards each other and a single table accommodating two goblets and a carafe of blood at center stage. It revealed the host of the night's much anticipated interview, who was seated in the left chair. The DA brought his hands before him and began gesturing for the crowd to clap, and they obeyed with uproarious enthusiasm, a few rising from their seats. He began to move his hands in a downward motion to request they stay seated, but he knew this was too great a request and an impossible task to keep the excitement contained on this night and he couldn't help but turn to face the stage himself to join clapping along furiously with the ravenous crowd. Tonight was a showstopper and he knew it. The guest was a well-known public figure, but despite his international popularity, he was very reclusive and private, especially regarding his own life. He appeared in public only when need be: summits, meetings, publicity statements. Everyone who was ever in his presence or heard his voice became enamored by his charms instantly. Not that he was particularly sociable or endearing, in fact, some described him as solemn and abrasive, but it just seemed to make them love him more. But he never went beyond civil cordiality with people. No one ever knew who he really was. And he kept it that way, until that night.*_

"I am your host James Lipton, and welcome to The Vampire's Studio," the host, now a vampire himself, said in the affected accent of an anglophile_._

_James stayed seated in his comfortable chair, sharing his attention evenly across the audience, and nodded sporadically in acknowledgement. The applause waned by request of the DA, who managed to contain his own anticipation and was hushing the crowd and raising the holograph board cue card he prepared especially for this night. It read: "Be Silent Or Die!!!" Slowly, they complied._

"We are honored and humbled tonight, here, at The Vampire's Studio. I have interviewed many, many great leaders and renowned celebrities in my illustrious career of 380 years, but I cannot think of a more thrilling guest than the one who has so graciously decided to join us tonight," he said, looking into the camera, with the overdramatic faux accent now intensified.

"We are truly in the presence of greatness," he paused and again shared his gaze with the entire audience before standing and looking stage right into the darkness.

"Please give your welcome to our prestigious guest, the enigmatic Eric Northman, King of Louisiana," he said as he began to bow deeply.

_Eric Northman's towering figure entered the lights from under the darkness, stage right; the crowd roared wildly with applause, and a standing ovation ensued. It was a mixed crowd of all races: shifter, Were, vampire, and human. Since the Great Assimilation of 2013, they had existed peacefully together, for the most part. The Great Assimilation was the strategic brainchild of our guest the year he took the throne. After tremendous backlash from FOTS members in the years following the Great Reveal, he helped develop a plan to penetrate the mainstream culture and media with vampire propaganda, moving forward their agenda for acceptance, which was how our host, James Lipton, was still alive in the year 2353._

_They targeted many influential members of human society, convincing them to become vampire. Noble laureates, world leaders, Olympic athletes and celebrities, they targeted only the very best of the human race, the crème de la crème. How Mr. Lipton slipped through the cracks, no one knows, but his maker was thoroughly punished. He had proven himself somewhat useful since his change to vampire, particularly with the readjustments he'd made to his weekly show programming that now catered almost exclusively to vampires._

_Eric's blonde hair framed the sculpted features of his face and was braided intricately. His ensemble: crisply pressed slacks, blazer, button up shirt with the top buttons undone, highly polished loafers and belt, all designer, no doubt, and all in his signature color, black. He took in the audience with his blazing crystalline blue eyes and raised his hands palms up towards them as a symbol of greeting. He never was much of a waver. Mr. Lipton was beaming from ear to ear at his own triumph in landing this monumental interview. He extended his hand out to Eric for a shake, which he commonly did with guests, and instead, Eric just nodded a millimeter of his chin to him and both men took their seats. Minutes passed and finally the studio began to calm when a woman's voice called out from the crowd "Boxers or briefs!" followed by cat calls._

Eric laughed appreciatively and replied, "Wouldn't you like to know?" He wagged his eyebrows as ladies swooned and there was a crunching sound as the one who yelled was tackled and dragged out by security.

"Well, my word. I think you have taken the collective breath away." Mr. Lipton said with pseudo-poetic flair, "You are both magnanimous and gifted."

Eric raised one brow quizzically at Mr. Lipton's excessive flattery, but quickly smoothed his face back into the expressionless canvas we have come to know. James shuffled his index cards nervously and then set them down on the table, realizing that he would not be leading the interview at all. He waited for Eric to speak, but Eric said nothing.

"Well. I would like to thank you for joining us. We are truly honored. We have all been looking forward to your visit ever since the Queen of Arkansas announced your intention to come to our stage during her interview last month," he said graciously.

"Yes, that was an interesting interview," Eric said as the corner of his mouth tugged upward. "How is your arm?" And the entire crowd collectively snickered.

"It's much better, thank you. The fingers grew back within two weeks. No harm done." James said, trying to muster some dignity in his voice.

"Pam can be very fickle," Eric said amusedly.

"So we have heard," James said, but regretted it the second it came out.

The Queen of Arkansas was well known for her trysts and liaisons with the beautiful women of the day, much to the chagrin of her wife, Angelina, whom she had stolen away from some actor many, many years before and turned vampire. Her clandestine rendezvous were now common tabloid fodder.

"Why don't we start there—tell us how you met your child, Pam, the Queen of Arkansas," he said, hoping he'd found a subject his interviewee was willing to elaborate on.

"Yes, it is a peculiar tale. It was a unique coincidence, or perhaps fate." Eric rested his big hands on the arms of his chair and crossed one leg across the other at the ankle. "But I think it may be too great a revelation for our audience," he said precociously eyeing the audience.

He knew that, although the integration of races was successful, many of the secrets of vampire existence were not publicized. The crowd moaned and pleaded for him to continue, everyone held captivated by this mysterious and powerful man.

"If you think you can handle the truth of it, I will be glad to recall it for you now," he said teasingly to the imploring eyes of the audience and host. "But I must tell you the whole story—from the beginning, so you will know how it came about."

There were cheers of "Yes!" from all over the studio and claps of encouragement. He arched his brows in a sinister way as a tightlipped grin came across his face.

He began telling the story very slowly, like a fireside chat or a man reading a children's book to a child.

"It was the winter of 1840 in London when I met her. I was walking though the narrow cobbled stone streets on my way to join other vampires, when I began being pursued by a group of clergymen with silver, and stakes, and torches. They knew immediately what I was and pursued me with the intent to kill me," he said fiercely.

"How did they know what you were in those times?" James interrupted.

"Another vampire had exposed us all. Ironically, it was Edmund Langley, one of the vampires I was traveling to visit that very night, although some of the blame could be credited to the fairies," Eric paused reflectively.

"Whatever do you mean?" asked James in his theatrical flair. Everyone knew that fairies existed, but they did not choose to live equally amongst the other races. Many called them elitists.

"In the Great Fae War of 1816, the warfare that they waged was constant and pitiless. Every fairy was forced to choose a side as the prince, Niall, and his enemy both gave the fae population an ultimatum: you were either with them or against them, and if you were the latter, you were killed on sight. It split the fae almost evenly down the middle, and no Fairy could escape combat. The fighting was so intense it crossed over from the other world they predominately inhabited and into this one. The magnitude of the magics being used between the worlds caused tremendous disruptions in the climate of the Earth and particularly here in London; the River Thames burst from its' banks, temperatures were intolerably frigid, and torrential downpours abounded. The human race titled it and has recorded it in their history as the 'Year Without a Summer.'"

"Fairies can do that? They are that powerful?" asked the gracious host.

"Oh, yes," he said and nodded, "Some of them. But it drove humans to hide in their homes in the bitter evenings. We could seldom find prey after sunset, which is the only time we can hunt. All that was left were vagabonds and prostitutes who were starved and diseased due to the sweeping famine and weren't much of a meal to us. The only healthy ones were the upper class and aristocracy, a rare find at dark, but Edmund managed to find a few one night," he said slyly.

"So, he was caught in the act. That's how you were exposed," James said in a vengeful tone.

"No. What he did was worse," Eric said with accusation.

"Edmund Langley was a very charismatic character, but was still young, having been turned only 100 years prior. He was affluent in his human life and a snob in the next, and he always was very clever. One evening he came across a man and woman strolling in the absurd temperatures at midnight. They were in the finest clothes of the day, and their cheeks were rosy with health. Though he was starved with thirst due to the circumstances I described before, he restrained himself and instead befriended them. The humans were both wealthy, eccentric artists and thought their new acquaintance was of equal stature, due to his perfect diction, manner, and dress. He invited them to the only establishment open in the entire city, a rustic pub. They deliberated on the suggestion, but found him irresistibly fascinating, which was his gift, so they agreed. He drank from them that night, but used his glamor afterwards, so they knew nothing of what had transpired," he paused, "He didn't kill them because he decided they were cows for milking, not slaughter." Eric peered at the timid audience and smiled broadly, genuinely; something seldom seen.

"While the trio sat at the pub discussing the finer things in life, the engaged couple mentioned they were leaving for Paris the next day on holiday, to escape the oppressively harsh weather and stay with several friends. They disclosed to Edmund they were staying at a villa in a remote location nestled between the mountains—in Cologny, just outside Lake Geneva to be exact. Edmund later told me this was the moment he decided to spare their lives. He quickly fabricated a story, telling them by coincidence his cousin had a home close by, who had been begging him to visit. They laughed over the chance fate and made plans to dine together."

"Edmund received a warm welcome from the group of five the following night when he arrived. The couple had spoken very highly of their new friend, whom they deemed a well-accomplished Renaissance man. The group viewed themselves as forward thinkers and modern for the times and relished the company of the exquisite Edmund. And it was true they themselves were quite accomplished. George, the owner of the home was a Lord and a poet, Clara was a well-known socialite, the couple, Mary and Percy, were both writers, and the very handsome John, a doctor."

"That first night after they'd bid him farewell for the night, Edmund returned when they slept only to seduce and feed on the entire group. His gift intoxicated and enthralled them to him. His power was unique, it was like a spell he cast with no chanting required, but he knew from past experience it expired at dawn. He'd never tried it on so many at once, but it worked, and it allowed him to keep them all submissive simultaneously as he moved from room to room having his way. He kept them this way the entire night as he bathed in the wealth of fresh new blood he had cleverly found and engineered, knowing other vampires back in London would be fortunate to happen on a starving whore. Before the sun rose he erased their memories and slipped out of the home to seek refuge from the sunlight in the earth outside."

"But Edmund was always pompous and greedy, so when he rose from the dirt the next night, he went back. He did this for the next three days as well, and during these five total nights of gluttony, he became fond of John in particular. He was as handsome and clever as Edmund so they spent a great deal of time together during these intoxicating hours. He found it difficult to leave John behind when the vacation had ended, but he knew he had to keep moving, which was our best survival technique in those days. So on the fifth night, after a night of unadulterated hedonism, he left to return to London." Eric paused and looked over at the crowd and found some shocked faces.

"As I am telling you this tale, I know you are thinking, 'I've had about as much vacation as I can stand,' he said in an uncannily American accent and the crowd laughed, putting them all at ease, "But you must understand—this was the way of the vampire. We lived in shadows and secrecy in order to survive. We had no rights, like we do today. We were no more than figures of fiction and objects of nightmares in those days. We were ghosts."

"That is, until what happened next, which is the reason I—a superior being in strength and mind, a renowned fighter, and lethal vampire—was reduced to skulking down dark alleys when I should have been tasting flesh," he said in mock pride.

"Edmund tried to be very careful. He bit them only near the groin, where the vein pulsates best," he said seductively.

"But he was hasty. When he was with John on the last night, he bit him on the shoulder. So when John woke the next day with no memory, he had the bite as a reminder. He also had something else. While Edmund was with others and John was still under his bewitchment, John had sketched a small portrait of his new lover with intentions of giving it to him as a gift to keep his favor. When Edmund returned he glamored him, and immediately left, so John found the picture the next day as well."

"With these two tokens, John rekindled some of his memory. The entire group did in some way, but it manifested itself differently in the others. Percy and Lord George Byron wrote some small pieces we believe were influenced by the experience. Mary went on to write the work _Frankenstein_ with some scribbling she made in those long evenings."

"Wait, wait, wait," said the host, miraculously losing some of his accent, "Are we to believe that this Edmund was a visitor at _the_ Villa Diodati with _the_ Mary Shelley?" he asked in awe.

"Yes."

"So as I was saying, John's memories caused him to write a different fiction. Something in him remembered Edmund Langley, despite the glamor, and knew exactly what he was."

"_The Vampyre_,"said James very slowly. Eric nodded gently and saw the audience was very still.

"Yes, _The Vampyre_. He published it three years later after that 'Year Without Summer,' in 1819. When it went to press, London went mad. The church was convinced of our existence and hunted us thoroughly. The next few decades were very rough for us, so on the night in question—when I met my child Pam—that is why I was being chased."

"Fascinating," said James sounding fascinated, "What happened to Edmund Langley?"

"When we found out many years later that he was the culprit behind the writings, we punished him."

"You made him meet the sun," James said dramatically.

"No. We removed his fangs and limbs," he said dryly, "We thought that would be the end of our troubles with him, but after a few years of feeding on animals, his limbs grew back. But his fangs did not. When his limbs were recovered, he went on a killing spree in London, but he could not bite them for he had no fangs, so he cut them with a knife and drank. He was deranged from the animal blood and was very sloppy about it. He made headlines again and then we did have to kill him. It was a shame because his talent was great."

"What year did he die?'

"1888, I believe," Eric said sounding certain.

"Jack the Ripper," James said solemnly.

"Yes. That is what the papers called him."

"Fascinating."

"So, back to the story at hand. A gang of vigilante humans was pursuing me when I sneaked into an alleyway between a row of private residences. I was moving very quietly with intentions of cutting through the alley to the street at the other end. When I got to the end, I heard footsteps, so I hid myself at the edge of a garden that belonged to a residence at the end of that alley. I waited several minutes until I thought it was clear, and began to move from the brush when I heard more footsteps. When I looked to see the direction, it was not the mob, but a young girl very well dressed in white, holding her skirt with one hand and her shoes in the other. She began to tiptoe her way against the side of the home carefully, trying not to rip her beautifully embroidered dress. It was the Victorian era so the skirt was quite full. Her hair was up in an elaborate bun, quite popular at the time. She looked of wealth, but she was very thin and at that time it was not the fashion, but she was pretty."

"You were attracted to her," the host said, grinning slyly.

"No. I was hungry. She was not my type, anyways," he said, giving a wink to the camera.

"I pounced and bit her. She let out a small shriek, and then I heard something snap near me, so I looked up from her neck and saw wooden arrows and spears land in the place I'd just been crouching. I covered her mouth and watched quietly as the mob, led by the Cardinal—who was actually part demon—ran past. He was the best vampire hunter in the city, but they did not see me. As I watched them move on and disappear in the distance, I looked down at the girl in my arms, and I was reminded of the psychic I'd once had," Eric said, as his eyes went vacant.

"What do you mean?'

"In my human life, I was a warrior, a Viking, specifically. We had just won a great battle and were feasting that night at our camp outside the village we had just conquered. It was a vicious war, and the next day we were on to the biggest battle of our lives. The enemy was the same that had killed the wife I had in my human life, leaving our children motherless, so my intent to destroy them was unbreakable," he said resolutely.

"It was quite common in those days to take prisoners of war, especially females, and in the camp, one of the females did strike my fancy. She was a companion of our fallen enemies and was with them in battle, but I did not think to ask why. I brought her to my tent and we had a very, very long night. She had thick wavy dark hair and was beautiful," he said ruminatively.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, your majesty, but what does this have to do with your child, Pam.?"

Eric flew from his seat and grabbed Mr. Lipton by the throat, suspending him in the air. His fangs shot out, and he looked as though he were ready to kill. The audience all gasped but then stayed silent as Eric held him by the neck with his feet dangling beneath him. The air was so thick you could cut it with a ceremonial wedding knife. After several tense moments, Eric set him down. Mr. Lipton scrambled to adjust himself and regain composure, and Eric went back to his seat.

"Patience is a virtue, James, so I have learned. The story I am telling you all now is testament to that. This was my lesson in patience. You'll do well to listen," he said chastising with one brow cocked.

"My apologies, majesty, please continue," he said, as he poured himself a glass of blood from the carafe.

"As I said, she was mysterious and beautiful, but at that time, that held no real value for for me. She was with our enemy, though we did not know her capacity, so she was to be killed at sunrise. After our long night together she was pleading for her safety, for me to take her with me at daylight, but I had no interest in doing this. She told me she could help us. That she was a seer, and that made her a valuable resource for war. I told her I must be convinced of her skill in order to keep her with my men as we advanced the next day, to spare her life."

"She closed her eyes, touching my head with her hand and began speaking in a language I'd never heard. It was as if she was in a trance. After several minute of indistinguishable chanting, she began speaking in my native tongue, Old Norse. I have forgotten many things from my human life, but I will never forget what she prophesied," Eric said, and he looked as though his mind were somewhere else. He stayed silent for a long while and his jaw tensed.

"What did she say?" James was now on the edge of his seat.

He deliberated for a while and finally said, "She said, 'Do not seek her, for The One will find you, with flaxen hair and eyes of sky. You will know her when she blooms like a white rose from the garden of dead and dying.'" He paused, "she said a few other things as well, but she made it clear that this was my fate."

"Wow. What else did she say? Did you keep her?"

"No. She did make some other predictions not so favorable, so I did kill her before she opened her eyes again."

"Amazing. Did it come true?" James said, sounding amazed.

"Yes," he said introspectively, "Maybe more than once," he finished with his voice trailing.

"Please share if you feel free," James said inquisitively, trying to disguise his excitement.

Eric pursed his lips and continued, "The very next day at battle, we were defeated, and I had fallen. All my men and I lay for dead in the field, and I thought certainly no man was left alive. I was not sure I'd live at all, nor did I want to. It was a failure and I was the leader, so I felt I must die with them on the soil where they fell," he said proudly. "I lay still until night fell, underneath the body of another man I'd killed, and I decided I would not go to Valhalla, I would live and seek revenge. I began to move the body off of me and lift myself up, when I saw a woman I thought was an angel. She had silky golden hair and flew with no wings. I knew her in myth only as Freyr, but now I could see she was very real. I wasn't sure if she was The One the psychic spoke of, but I went with her. When we left the field I found she was not an angel or a goddess at all."

"What was she?" James said

"A very evil Fairy," Eric replied leeringly.

"She collected other men as well, the ones who were hardly breathing and almost dead. She took us to the foot of the mountains around us. I thought she was saving our lives, but instead she traded us, therefore taking them," Eric said matter of factly.

"How did she take your life by trading you? And she could not have taken your life, you are here now," James said with confusion.

"Yes," Eric replied.

"Oh," the host said with dawning awareness.

"Yes."

"The one she traded me to was my maker. I was the only one that rose from the dirt three days later, the other men's hearts were too weak, so they did not become vampire," he paused and didn't speak for a while.

"So you see, almost 800 years later I found myself in a garden of dead rosebushes with a girl who had gold hair and blue eyes. I decided not to kill her, but I couldn't let her free either, so it left me no option but to change her," he said resolutely.

"And she is Pam," James said conclusively.

"Yes."

"Are you saying Pam is The One?" he said skeptically.

"No, but it taught me patience was a virtue," Eric said slowly.

"Well. Why did you think your only options were to free her or kill her?" James inquired. But Eric stayed silent for several moments.

Eric looked down at his left hand and exhaled deeply. "Because The One would either save me or be the end of me," he said reluctantly.

"Did you ever find The One?" James asked and then paused, regretting his eagerness, "Your queen," he said solemnly, thinking of the beautiful human girl the king had married, but who had died a very long time ago.

"Yes."

The room went still and the conversation stagnant. This was the one subject never broached, always forbidden; the cardinal rule of the King. Several tense moments passed and no one blinked.

"Well, you're still here, so are we to assume she saved you?" the host said, searching for an optimistic turn.

Eric looked out into the frozen faces of the audience and the standing crew. His eyes twinkled in the bright studio lights as he remembered the first time he met her. The white candle glowing luminously in the coal mine, the ivory rose blooming before him in the garden of death around her. How foolish he was to not recognize her in that instant, the time he wasted that he wished desperately he could have back now. The complicated hurdles they climbed separately, but together, together still, to come to be one. Her bravery, the way she rescued humanity in him he'd thought died long ago, never to return. She brought it back, she saved his heart. She saved him. The One. She loved him. Her scent, so sweet, only his. The perfume that still haunts his dreams, tauntingly, eyes open, she's gone. Her warmth, the touch of her skin, her touch, too much to bear. The immeasurable love they had, they shared, still there. The way her hair blew like silk in the wind those winters they sat by the lake, talking about nothing, talking about everything, just talking, the intimacy. The way she beamed radiantly up at him from her pillow underneath the cover of sheets, his lover, his love. The lifetime they shared together of bliss, of heaven, so simple, it was easy, irreplaceable. He thrived on the memories of her, the better man she made him, her life's work, he didn't deserve. The promise she made him make to her on her death bed for him to go on always, the promise he made to her in return to always carry her in his heart, and still does, and the happiness that could never be replaced. He looked down and the platinum band still on his finger.

"She did both," Eric said quietly, as a red droplet made haste down his white cheek.

*_The lights slowly dimmed on stage into darkness*_


End file.
